


The Marrying Type

by SassyEggs



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, One Shot, cavity-inducing sweetness, super fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 17:07:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5425058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassyEggs/pseuds/SassyEggs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was supposed to be a simple conversation to pass time on the road towards Riverrun.  It wasn't supposed to be like this!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Marrying Type

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Litanolastar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Litanolastar/gifts).



> For Litanolastar, because why not? Thanks for the support, it makes a world of difference, not just to me but to all the other writers you've read, commented and kudos'ed. If you had any fics of your own I'd return the favor, instead you get this silly little snippet.

 

They were only days away from Riverrun, and Sansa was elated. Soon she’d be reunited with her mother, her brother, her king, after two full turns of the moon of sleeping in the woods, and even longer living in the lion’s den.  The nightmare would be over in less than a week, and she had her dour escort to thank for it.

And dour he was, always scowling and growling but softer, somehow, than he was in Kings Landing. Things had been awkward between them at first, both a little shy and hesitant around the other though she never thought she’d see the Hound act _shy_.  He tended to all of her needs, day after day, while she stood uselessly to the side and watched, but he never complained about it, and she was grateful for the care he showed her.

After a while a few of the nightly tasks fell to her- she would make the fire while he set the snares; she’d prepare the campsite while he prepared their meal; she’d mend their garments while he polished his sword. It seemed they complemented each other well, often working in silence as they set about their routine.  Sometimes he would let her help him with his own tasks.  She didn’t care for setting the snares, and _really_ didn’t care for butchering the meat, but she rather liked polishing his sword.  The only thing she never helped with was Stranger- she wasn’t allowed near him, except when riding him, and even then she was instructed never to approach without the Hound’s express consent.  Not that she ever wanted to- that horse was as mean and nasty as his namesake, and she happily kept her distance.

The other task that she decided belonged to her was conversation; she took this responsibility _very_ seriously.  The thing she noticed about him in this regard was that he really didn’t like to talk very much, but once he found a topic he liked he could talk for _ages_.  So she asked him about wars and weapons, about tourneys and horses and wine.  He could be as catty as a serving wench when speaking of his previous masters, and wickedly funny too, just as long as she asked the right questions. 

Today, though, her mind was blank, searching desperately for something to discuss but coming up short. But they had been riding in silence for too long, she decided, and finally blurted out the first thing she could think of.   

“Do you remember the first time you saw me?”

“Winterfell,” he replied drily, after only a moment of hesitation.

She smiled. “What did you first think of me?”

He sighed with exasperation, and at first she thought he wouldn’t answer, but he finally said-

“Tall.”

Sansa laughed aloud. Of all the words she might have expected to hear, that was not one of them.

“And what do you think of me now?”

He shook his head and fixed her with a blank look. “Taller.”

It was the easy way out, she knew. He had opinions- most of them awful- he’d shared them with her plenty of times.  But he wasn’t sharing now, and she wasn’t ready to press, so she just _tsked_ in disapproval before looking away. _Back to the silence_.

“Do you remember the first time you saw me?” She was surprised he asked, but happy he was playing along.

“Winterfell,” she nodded.

“What did you first think of me?”

He was looking at her expectantly, and she knew better than to lie, so she said-

“Scary.”

He smirked and nodded in approval.  “And now?”

She didn’t know. He was still scary, but she wasn’t scared of him anymore, not really.  Now?  She wasn’t sure she could say, didn’t know if she had the right words, so she took the easy way out, too.

“Tall.”

He let out a short little bark of a laugh then gave her a reproachful look. “You’re supposed to be practicing.”

Sansa huffed her protest- she didn’t want to practice with the dagger he’d given her. It made her nervous, not just because she didn’t know how to handle it but because she had to practice while he watched.  And he was always criticizing her, always carrying on about her _weak_ _thumb_ of all things.

“You know you need to learn, you can’t fix everything with your courtesies and pretty face.”

“So you think I have a pretty face?” she asked playfully, determined to avoid the lesson.

He took a deep breath and let it all out, not even trying to hide his irritation. “You already know you have a pretty face, you don’t need me telling you.”

“I still like to _hear_ it,” she sang up to him.  “Honestly, you’re far too old to be learning what to say to a lady.  Someday you’ll take a wife and you won’t know how to treat her.”

“Trust me, I already know how to ‘treat’ a wife,” he leered, his statement loaded with a meaning she wasn’t too naïve to understand.

“How _could_ you know, have you ever _had_ a wife?”  She saw the clouds roll into his eyes and felt him bristle, and knew immediately she’d pushed it too far.  He was frustratingly sensitive in this regard- any other man would have taken it for the gentle teasing she meant it, but not him.  To him she’d just insulted him in the worst possible way.

“ _Have_ you?” she repeated awkwardly. 

“No,” he snapped.

“ _Truly?”_ she asked a little too brightly, trying- and failing- to sound shocked.  Which was a stupid thing to pretend, she knew, because why would anyone want to marry him?

“Why in seven hells would anyone want to marry me?” he growled.

“ _Whaaat?_ Why _wouldn’t_ someone want to marry you?” she asked, feigning surprise but wincing at the insincere tone of her voice.  Gods, he’d know she was faking; he always did.

He had tensed up and was glaring at her, and even his breathing sounded angry.

“Would you stop?” she asked, this time genuine. “There’s nothing wrong with you.”

“There’s _plenty_ wrong with me.”

She sighed in defeat. “Fine. Yes, plenty wrong.  But there are… other things… a woman would want… in a husband.”  Oh gods, this was bad.

He narrowed his eyes and gave her a look that was clearly meant to call her bluff. _Why did I say that? I have to answer now, he’ll think I'm lying if I don’t._   He was waiting patiently for her to rise to the challenge, so she smiled at him as naturally as she could while she tried to think of something to say. 

“Uh… well… you’re strong.” He looked momentarily surprised by her answer, but then nodded his agreement and she was glad she had started there.  “And you’re healthy.   And big- very, very big.”  He raised one eyebrow at her as if to say _so?_ “So…” she continued, “any sons you have will likely be big and strong and healthy as well.”  He softened a little at her conclusion, as if he had never thought about that before. _I guess those are women’s concerns_.    

“You’re fierce, so your family will always feel protected. And you’re powerful.  Your wife will be able to say that no one’s husband is as powerful as hers, which would make her proud.”  She wasn’t looking at him anymore- she had gotten lost in her search for reasons and was now focused on finding the right compliments, ones he would believe. 

“You have the wisdom of a full life, but you’re still young. And you can read and write, which is better than most.  And your eyes are pretty.” _Oops_.  “And you’re loyal.  And honest.  Maybe a little too honest, but I’m getting used to it.”  She laughed softly at that and turned away.  “I suppose at this point, I actually like it.” 

She paused for a bit, searching for more, before she went on. “And I like how you always take care of Stranger and make sure he has what he needs, even when you’re tired.  I like how you just seem to always know what you’re doing.  I like it when you call me ‘little bird,’ but I also like it when you say my name.  And I like how you curse.  It makes me want to laugh, but not when you’re angry with me.  Then I don’t like it at all.”

Oh gods.  Oh gods!!!  Where did any of that come from?!?! By the time the words had left her lips she was already regretting them because, while they were honest, she hadn’t planned to _be_ so honest.  She pulled her braid down over her shoulder and cautiously stole a glance up at him.  He looked angry, and… confused.  She looked away again and felt a blush creep across her neck and ears. 

“I like it when you say my name, too.”

He said it blandly, as if it was inconsequential, and she wondered if it was true or if he was just trying to make her feel better. But she knew he wouldn’t lie to her, and that _did_ make her feel better.  She let out a long slow breath and leaned in closer to nudge him.

“What else?”

He laughed loudly at her mischievous smile. “No, I don’t want to play.”

“Please?”

“No, thank you.”

“Fine. Tall scary man.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I really should be focusing on other tasks... no, gonna write more fanfic instead. I have issues, friends. Thankfully, you all have almost as many issues as I do.
> 
> EDIT: Wow, thanks for the kudos everyone! Glad you like it!


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